Ignis
by Illium Kohaku
Summary: This is the story of Tom Riddle. A story where Tom makes his own fate in a world filled with much more than just wizards. In a world filled with fantastic creatures most could never dream of, a world filled with as much darkness as light, where will Tom find his place? As a young Tom abandons the orphanage at age 6 he forges a new unforgettable path for himself. AU
1. Little Arsonist

**Important AN: I won't write these unless there are important facts about the story you need to know. Ignis will be an AU where we will see very little of the wizarding world. The story will focus more on Tom and the friends he makes. There will be elements of torture and death, coz that's just how I like my Tom.**

* * *

 **Chapter One**

 _When I was a child, I'd sit for hours_

 _Staring into open flame_

 _Something in it had a power,_

 _Could barely tear my eyes away_

 _Hozier- Arsonist's Lullabye_

It was 1930 and a young Tom Marvolo Riddle stood staring at an ominous gate. A big dark gate that reminded him of elaborate prison bars he had read about in his stories. And Wool's Orphanage in London was very much a prison. One he couldn't escape from no matter how hard he wished or hoped or begged. Tom didn't remember a time before the orphanage. A time when he had to have had a family. A mother and a father and maybe a sibling or two, all the children he read about had such families.

Mrs. Cole had always told him that his family never wanted him, that he was a runt and unloved. But he didn't believe that, not for one moment. All mothers loved their children and his was no exception, there had to be a reason for her to give him away. Maybe she couldn't care for him anymore or her nasty parents had made her give him away. His mother had named him and she wouldn't have done that if she hadn't loved him, would she? He was extremely proud of his name. It was the only link he had to his family.

Tom sighed deep in his six year old chest, the wind ruffling his silky black hair. With a last stare at the gate he turned back towards the orphanage and its dark looming doors and the vile inhabitants. There would be no attempts at a prison break today.

* * *

"Give it back!" The screech was accompanied by Tom's bedroom door banging open. He slowly closed his book and gently settled it onto his bed before turning to look at the child that had so unceremoniously barged into his room. His name was Rodney and he was a study of reds. Red hair, red cheeks, neck a mottled red colour. Tom thought him loud, brash and would dearly like to rip his tongue out of his mouth. No matter how much he wanted to Tom would never do that. He still had to be a good boy, or at least pretend to be.

"Give what back?" he asked looking at the other boy with dark emotionless eyes. He had learned early on that the less emotion he showed the more disturbed people became and the more they left him alone. "You took my ring, you freak!" spittle flying from his thin lips.

Tom couldn't quite keep his lips from tugging into a slight sneer at the sight. "I don't even know what your ring looks like, how could I steal it?" he stared at the red boy with clear disdain. They both knew this was a farce, a sham. The boy had no ring. But Tom had a part to play and he would play it, regardless of his own wishes. "I know you took it" the boy snarled, taking another deeper step into the room. "You're the only freak here who keeps stealing our stuff!"

At Rodney's steps into the room Tom cautiously stood from his bed ready for confrontation. He was painfully aware of his small stature and body made weak and thin by malnourishment. It wouldn't be the first time one of the other children had taken advantage of their size against Tom.

Tom felt his blood turn to ice in his veins when he heard Mrs. Cole's voice grate down the hallway. "What is all this shouting about?" the matron's pillowy breasts the first parts of her to come into sight, followed by her large stomach and sizable nose. She stood there standing in the doorway glaring at Tom with steely eyes, "what did you do Tom" she demanded.

"I didn-" "He stole my ring!" the red boy screeched staring at Tom in clear triumph. Tom had to clench his teeth to keep from shouting at the boy. He knew from experience that it would only make things worse for him. "Tom," Mrs. Cole said sounding disappointed but Tom could see the satisfaction in her eyes "why would you take poor Rodney's prized possession?"

"I didn't take his ring" Tom made sure to enunciate each word slowly. "Don't lie Tom" came the immediate response "we know your type." Tom felt his rage bubble under his skin, and with it came the Voice _. Do it Tom_ it whispered seductively _it would be so easy_ it said. _We could set her on fire. Her screams would be beautiful_ it crooned in his ear. Tom couldn't help the little shudder that worked through him. It was getting harder and harder to deny the Voice.

"I didn't take his ring" Tom bit out, knowing it was a bad idea but unable to stop himself. He heard Mrs. Cole suck in a breath, "no dinner for you tonight Tom. You should know better that to lie to me. Now, you'll give little Rodney back his ring and that will be the end of it." He didn't say anything, he was too busy listening to the Voice. _Burn her, tear her apart, make her hurt_ it murmured. _Make her bleed, make the world red_ came the moan. "Nothing to say?" came the loaded question. Both of them knew that no matter what he said now, no matter his objections or explanations, she would only punish him for it. He bit his tongue and didn't say a word.

"Two days without food Tom", came the acid murmur, "you have until tomorrow morning to return the ring, or you know what your punishment will be." Tom could see the red bastard practically twitching with pleasure at that. The Voice snarled, a primal and hair raising sound. The Voice might have loved pain, and blood, and fear but it absolutely hated Tom's.

With those parting words Mrs. Cole swept out of the room, the red bastard close on her heels.

* * *

Tom sat outside next to a tree again, as he always did when things in the orphanage got too much. His backpack full of his important possessions cradled in his arms. He knew better than to leave anything in his room when he wasn't there. Things always got 'lost'.

He sat in the dark, trying to calm his mind and the Voice. It wouldn't do well for him to lose his temper. Not when he was this mad, he didn't know what he was capable of doing and didn't want to test his 'gifts' now. Not here at the orphanage.

The orphanage. He felt an unwilling snarl travel up through his vocal cords and spill out of his curled lips. He hated the place with a fiery passion that he struggled to cope with. Starvation and beatings and slicing words. That was all he'd gotten from that place. And he hated it.

They thought just because he was six that he was stupid. Tom was a genius and he knew it. He'd been reading adult books since he was able to steal them at the age of four. He stole them from other children, from Mrs. Cole. When he was allowed to leave the orphanage on little tours he always found ways to go to the library. He knew how the world was supposed to be and he knew that what Mrs. Cole was doing wasn't right. But he also knew that no one would listen to him when told he had a history of lying and theft.

He'd read all about how to survive in the wild, what to do with your money, how to charm people, how to stay undetected in the world. Not that he thought he would need these skills but it was better to be prepared for any outcome.

He glared at the orphanage, his rage only growing as his thoughts grew progressively darker. He wanted to hurt them so bad, just like they had hurt him. Over and over again, for things he hadn't even done. He wanted them to burn. He wanted to listen to them scream, watch their faces contort in pain and terror through the pretty colours of the fire. He wanted them to _hurt._

He sat next to that tree outside of the orphanage. Next to the gate, in the dark of night. There he sat imagining the flames. Imagining their pain. He lost himself in the flames of his fantasies. The flickering tongues of blue and red and orange and hints of purple had him transfixed. He felt that he could touch the flames if he wanted to. Make them real. So lost was he in his imaginings it took the third scream to bring him back to reality. And what he saw made the breath catch in his throat and a shiver skim across his skin. The orphanage was aflame.

He gaped at the orphanage, unable to comprehend the scene. The orphanage was _on fire_. Just like he had wanted it to be. He sat there in the glow of the flames, frozen, listening to the screams of the dying. He noticed Mrs. Cole banging at a window, shouting. It seemed to him like they were unable to open any doors or windows. They were stuck.

He felt full lips curl upwards into the first smile in what felt like forever. They couldn't get to him now. He stared at the backpack in his arms and then to the gate. He slowly got up, opened the gate and took his first step out on to the road that led away from the orphanage. He slowly turned back to look at the orphanage in all its glorious, riotous colour. He felt his heart flip and his shoulders straighten. He felt positively giddy. For the first time in his six years he was free.

With the fire gleaming in his hair and eyes, the screams if the inhabitants of the orphanage in his ears and the purring of the Voice in his head, Tom Marvolo Riddle turned his back on Wool's orphanage of London and on his fate and forged himself a new path. One that would write his name in the stars.

* * *

 **EN** : Question time! Where do you think this story will go, and where do you want it to go? constructive criticism is very appreciated. This is my first time so be gentle with me?

 **Illium**


	2. The Meeting

**Chapter 2**

 _Come, if you're curious to see_

 _Pull the trick out of my sleeve_

 _All you find is yours to keep_

 _Brave, are you brave enough to meet_

 _The desires that you seek_

 _Hold my hand, I'll set you free_

 _ **The Rigs- Devil's Playground**_

Tom was utterly, mind-bendingly furious. He had burned down that wretched place a mere seven hours ago and he realized that he had made a very big mistake. He truly had no idea how to start building his new life. He might have read all about what to do and how to do it but he hadn't taken into account his age and how that would factor into things.

He cursed, frustrated. He didn't think of himself as a child. He was Tom Riddle for heaven's sake! The smartest six year old out there. But they adults wouldn't see it like that. If he went to an adult they would probably send him back to another orphanage. He shuddered. That was if they didn't get suspicious about how he was the only survivor of the fire at Wool's Orphanage.

His thoughts kept turning back to the orphanage and how it might have been better had he never set it on fire. He might still have had a place to stay, he could have planned everything to the finest detail. He savagely pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. It wouldn't have been better! He would rather be on the streets, starving and free than locked up in that mockery of a home for children, starved, beaten and bladed for every little strange occurrence.

He had quietly slipped into the town among the bustle of tourists when he realized his current dilemma and he hid himself in the first abandoned alley he found so that he could think about this before being confronted with his problem. Night had well and truly fallen while he sat in that dark alley thinking about his problems. With a sigh he hauled up his small weary body and slowly made his way out of the alley and into the busy street, backpack slung round his shoulder.

As he emerged from the shadowy corridor he glimpsed the vivid colour of the clothes tourists seemed to prefer. He felt a slow smirk spread across his rosebud lips. Tourists. He'd read about how they were easy prey for con artists and thieves. It shouldn't be easy to get money out of them. With his young, innocent look and his skill for pickpocketing (which he had honed into an art form at the orphanage) he knew he would be able to get the money he needed for food and a place to stay fairly easily. He would probably have to look for some seedy establishment and try to use his… power, he really didn't know what to call the things he could do, to change his appearance enough that he didn't look so young.

Tom had no qualms with begging. He had learned long ago that pride meant nothing when you were hungry and afraid and cold. With this mindset firmly in place Tom started to scope his potential 'victims'. His clothes were old and threadbare as was his backpack. He was also painfully aware that years of malnutrition had left him pale and with a distinct air of fragility. He could play the poor young child looking for some money to help his poor ailing mother to perfection.

There. Walking towards his place next to the brick wall was an elderly couple, clearly tourists. He sucked in a breath and allowed his shoulders to slump. He distributed most of his weight to his left leg, enhancing his image of broken fragility. His heart pounded in his small chest with a mixture of anticipation and adrenaline. They drifted closer to his slumped form. When the old woman was in hearing range he allowed his breath to hitch painfully and audibly in his chest.

From the corner of his eye he glimpsed the woman turn towards him, her concern evident. He watched with malicious amusement as her eyes roamed over his pitiful form. She tugged her husband's arm and pointed towards him in what she probably thought was a subtle move. As he watched they slowly altered their course towards him. He had to hide his smirk. Once again he allowed his breath to hitch, as if he was crying.

The old woman and man were in front of him now but he refused to straighten his slumped form or look up from his scuffed shoes. A wrinkled hand descended onto his bony shoulder and his flinch was all natural. Tom didn't like it when people touched him.

"Child?" the word was framed as a question by a kind female voice. Tom curled his shoulders up to his ears. "Boy," this time it was a gruff voice that answered, "do ya need any help?" this surprised Tom. He had expected the woman to do most of the talking.

He slowly lifted up his pale teary face to stare at the couple. He watched both the man and woman flinch when they caught sight of his face. He cleared his throat. "No, sir." Tom replied ensuring there was a faint wobble to his voice.

Both of them stared at him in apparent disbelief. "Are ya sure, boy?" the man again. Tom flicked his eyes to the side, not making eye contact. "I… I just… yes?" he asked the question as if unsure about what to do. The tourists shared a look over his head. "You can tell us, child. We may even be able to help you." Tom sucked in a breath and stared at the woman with huge watery dark eyes. He could practically see her melt.

"I… it's my mum, miss."

"What about your mother?" the woman's voice was impossible gentle

"She's real sick, miss!" he blurted out. He then went back to staring at his shoes as if he had said something he shouldn't have. It was the man's turn to suck in a breath.

"What's wrong with her?" the grizzled man asked. Judging by the man's face Tom thought that his mother must have had some kind of illness. Tom flinched and fiddled with the frayed cuffs of his sleeves. He flicked his eyes back up and between the two of them before sucking in a breath and staring over the man's shoulder.

"I dunno know, sir. My mum won't tell me! But the doctor was there and mum has so much medicine but it's gone 'cause we don't have money and she looks real bad." All of this was said in a rush and by the end Tom had tears trickling down his small face. The tourists stared at each other again, clearly communicating silently, before the man nodded once and the woman turned back to Tom.

"We aren't doctors or even know doctors so we can't help you in that area but we can help you with your mothers medicine." The woman's voice was dripping with sympathy. Her husband had taken out his wallet and was removing what looked like two crisp hundred pound notes. "This is for your mother's medicine," the old man said gruffly "don't go spending it on something else." He reached out, took Tom's small hand in his and placed the notes in his palm.

Tom stared at his hand in amazement. That was a lot of money. He turned to stare at them and burst into tears. "I can't… thank you.' He sobbed. The woman pulled him into her arms and squeezed him. "Just help your mother get better." Mumbled the woman into his hair.

Tom pulled out of her embrace to stare at the man in gratitude. "Go on," the man muttered "go home." Tom gave them both a dazzling smile before stuffing the money in his pocket, turning around and running up the street. He knew the foreign couple were still staring after him so he turned down into a random road and slowed down to a walk.

He didn't feel back about tricking the couple out of their money. If people willingly wanted to waste their money, it wasn't his problem. But it did make him warm on the inside to know that there actually were nice grownups. After everything he'd been through in his short six years, it felt good to know that there were genuinely good people in the world.

Now he just had to figure out what to do next. He couldn't pull he same trick in the same place, they would easily catch on to what he was doing. He had more than enough money to buy a train ticket to another town. With his worries about money assuaged for the moment, Tom chose to stroll down the streets teeming with people and just observe.

A man caught his eyes. He was very tall and well built, with large shoulders and he walked with this strange liquid grace. But it wasn't the way he walked that caught Tom's attention. It wasn't the strangely coloured hip length hair, or the form fitting pitch black clothing. What caught and held Tom's attention was the strange bulging pouch on the man's belt. Pouches usually meant valuables. Now one character flaw of Tom's that he had desperately tried to get rid of was his curiosity. He hadn't succeeded.

Emboldened by his previous success and his skill as a pickpocket, Tom slowly made his way towards the man. Sliding around people with the grace of a dance. As he neared the man he prepared himself slide against him and grab the pouch on his way and then disappear. His heart beating even harder than previously, adrenaline running through his limbs, Tom made his move. Clearly he had an adrenaline problem.

He slided against the man's surprising hard form and wrapped his slim hand around the pouch. Before he could move away a different, much bigger and bronzed hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging him to a halt. Tom felt fear ice his veins.

"Well," came the silky purr "what do we have here?" Tom turned to stare wide eyed at the man who currently held his arm captive. It wasn't the man that he had tried to rob. This man was even bigger with dark bronze skin, wild shoulder length black hair and slanted black eyes set over a slim aristocratic nose and a surprisingly lush mouth. Everything about him screamed 'wild'. Tom hadn't accounted for being caught. He had no idea what to do.

"It appears to be a little thief." Came the amused reply to his left. Tom stared at the man who he tried to rob. He hadn't looked closely at the man before but took the chance to do so now. His hip length hair had perfectly spaced and sized stripes running through. Orange, red, black and pure white. His eyes were a liquid gold. He his nose had a feline quality to it, wide and slightly flat. His lower lip was fuller than the upper. Where the previous man screamed 'wild' this one practically roared 'feral'.

While he had been staring at them, they were busy studying him. Their eyes were calculating and he had the feeling that they might eat him if he did the wrong thing. He shuddered. His power trailed across his skin, reacting to his fear. The black haired man raised a slim eyebrow at this. Tom felt a reaction from the man. It was like the man's power caressed every part of Tom. He gasped and swayed towards the black haired man. "Fascinating" he crooned.

"Do you know what you are, kid?" asked the yellow eyes man. Tom bristled at being called a child but kept his mouth shut. The yellow eyes man laughed. "I'll take that as a no. What if I said we could teach you?" he breathed leaning forwards. "We could show you what you are. We could teach you how to use this… intoxicating power." The last words were a murmur.

Tom didn't know what to do. His biggest flaw had always been his greed for knowledge. And to finally know what he was... to know how to consciously _use_ this power?

"Why?" he asked, unable to keep the distrust from his voice. The black haired man, who still hadn't let go of his arm, replied. "We're bored kid. And it would be a right shame to let someone with your potential go along untrained, wasting away or accidentally end up blowing yourself and the neighborhood you happen to be in up,"

"What would you expect of me?" the man finally let go of his arm.

"What any teacher would expect. Obedience. That you will do your best. That you will listen without bias. You would live with us," here the golden eyed man stared at him critically "you would be required to eat three meals a day as well as follow a diet plan."

"That's all?" Tom asked, not daring to hope.

"More rules will be added as you grow or as we feel is needed." The black haired man stared at him, eyes wild and filled with anticipation. He held out his big bronze hand for Tom to take. "What do you say?"

Tom thought about it. They were appealing to his two biggest character flaws. His curiosity and his need for knowledge. They might just be doing this because they were perverts or because they wanted to hurt him. But… if they were sincere he would have a home. One with people who understood him and could help him. One with people who might even grow to love him. Regardless of his calculating personality or previous deeds, Tom was still just a six year old child. And he wanted what every other child did.

"Okay." Toms murmured, staring at them with big apprehensive eyes, and slowly slid his pale hand into the much bigger one offered. The black haired man closed his hand around Tom's and flashed a grin. "Good" both of them said.

 _Interesting,_ the Voice crooned in the back of young Tom's head.


End file.
